


Fuck... Me?

by Arvak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Succubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvak/pseuds/Arvak
Summary: There have been people dying.Well damn, what a shocker. It's not like they live in Beacon Hills of all places.---Or: A succubus rolls into town, and Stiles becomes her unfortunate target. Luckily, things take a turn for the better (and sexier) when Peter doesn't quite have the same restraint he usually does when met with the sight of pretty-much-naked-and-completely-horny Stiles Stilinski.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 236





	Fuck... Me?

There have been people dying.

Well damn, what a shocker. It's not like they live in Beacon Hills of all places.

"What is it this time," Stiles said, twisting back and forth in the cheap, plastic-and-foam BHPD chair with a foot on the ground while he tried to fold a piece of paper into the shape of a crane. This chair sucks. He's gonna have to talk to the mayor or something. The workplace of the finest deputies in town deserve better chairs. "Are their insides melted? No no, wait, are their insides _gone_?" He looked over at Derek, stood by the Sheriff's desk, at his _constipated_ expression, and cackled to himself.

"We don't know," Derek said- er, grunted. "They're just dying." Stiles shook his head, pitying the poor Neanderwolf, and held out a hand with beckoning finger-wiggles. Derek set the case file in Stiles' hand and, behind the Sourwolf, Stiles' dad sat at his desk and watched with steepled fingers against his lips.

Stiles looked over the case files. Five dead. Three in their beds naked, one in the bathroom of a club, and one behind a movie theater. Men, woman, teen-aged, middle-aged. Once his once-over was finished, Stiles closed his eyes and tried to erase the naked images of random strangers from his memory. He's only into that when they're prerecorded on his computer screen and most importantly, _alive._

"Okay," Stiles drawled, shuffling the pictures to the back and reading over their death reports. All of them had listed under 'cause of death' the simple mysterious phrase: _'mysterious cause of death'_.

Stiles looked up at his dad with the heavy expression of disappointment. "Someone needs to fire your M.E.."

"Why don't you just do it," his dad said dryly.

"Ooh, really?"

" _No_ , Stiles." He leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "So, it's a..." The Sheriff glanced at the closed door shiftily. "a _supernatural_ matter, then?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, probably," Stiles said. His dad sighed heavily and rubbed his face.

"Well then it's _your_ problem. I have... other things to do."

"You mean that terrible, evil group of kids vandalizing the local library with their illiterate graffiti?" Stiles teased.

"Watch it or I'll blame you and your little group of friends. It's not like you guys are the poster kids of responsible youth."

Stiles threw himself back in his chair and slapped his hand over his chest dramatically. "You wound me, father."

"Right. Get out."

Stiles smirked and scooped up the files. He bowed on his way out and Derek shot him a withering glare as he followed him through the empty station.

Stiles took the file home and began working on coming up with connections. He had only gotten about ten minutes in before his bedroom door suddenly flew open.

Now, let's take a moment to assess this.

As of late, there have been werewolves barging into his room in odd hours of the day and _completely unwarrented_ hours of the night. The thing is, they always came through his window.

Because it was his door which suddenly slammed open with the force of a small freight train, he could only assume it was either a werewolf or a human in a serious hurry. And survival instinct told him to assume and prepare for the worst.

So, as any rational person would, he screamed and dove for his bat, bouncing to his feet at the ready... Only, it was just Erica.

"ERICA!" he shouted, adrenaline still surging. "What the FUCK."

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she snorted, hopping onto his bed and making herself comfortable.

"I had the doors locked!" he barked, tossing down his bat and setting his hand over his wildly pounding heart.

"Yeah." She held up a complicatedly bent paperclip. "I made this to fit them like half a year ago."

Stiles pulled at his hair and decided to revisit that another day. _Crisis averted. Adrenaline crash incoming. Warning, warning, take a fucking load off before you hurt yourself._

He dropped down into his seat and sagged, twisting back and forth in his chair while taking slow breaths to try to calm his heart back down. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I was bored... What are you working on? Is that a new case?"

Stiles grumbled to himself and let her poke around his papers. He turned back to his laptop and continued working.

"This is _so weird_ ," Erica said a few minutes later, morbid fascination lacing her voice. Stiles looked over his shoulder and then groaned. He leaned over and snatched the picture of the middle-aged naked guy from her. What a _weirdo._

She bounced off his bed and snatched it back, setting it over his computer keyboard. "No, _look_."

Stiles, against his better judgement, obeyed, and looked... Her finger was pointing to the dude's dick. "Erica!" he cried out, looking away.

"No no no, I think the camera picked up something."

"Yeah, a dead naked dude. Thanks. I really wanted that image right back in my brain again."

"No, just _look_ , you wimp!" Stiles shielded his eyes when she tried to shove the photo in his face. "Please, like you haven't seen plenty of dicks from porn."

"Yeah, well those dicks usually belonged to _perfectly alive and attractive porn stars._ " He flailed his hand at the dead guy. "Not... _dead neighbor Frank._ "

Erica snorted and sat on his desk, peering down at the photo. Stiles thought she was crazy as she turned the photo on its side and tilted her head to look at it. "It kinda looks like a lens flare, but it's like, all smokey."

"What are you talking about?"

"This." She put the photo back down on the desk beside her. Stiles sighed and moved his laptop out of the way and bit the bullet. He looked at the guy, right at his dick where Erica pointed. He saw chubby thighs, a limp cock and hairy balls-

Oh god, he's gonna vomit.

"Erica, I don't see anything."

Erica shook her head and then slapped the photo into Stiles' desk-top copy machine. Stiles watched her push buttons, and then listened to his poor machine grind out a new copied photo. He's gonna have to deep-cleanse that thing now. He's gonna have to pour an entire gallon of bleach in there. Just set it on fire, maybe.

"Look!" she said again, slapping the new photo on his desk. The color was distorted, leaning into a more pink hue. And, there, seemingly steaming from the dude's dick, was this barely-there purple-colored smoke.

Stiles sighed and threw his head back. "I hate this town."

Erica looked positively _delighted_. "Ooh, yay! I'll check the other pictures!"

"Anything?"

"Dad," Stiles sighed, turning to look over his shoulder at his father, who had poked his head through his bedroom door. "The answer is just the same as the last three times you've asked: _I'll let you know_."

His father frowned - not in an upset way. Just a generally inconvenienced way.

"Alright. Hey, station just called - said they found another one. Did you want to ride with?"

Stiles grimaced. "Are they naked?"

The Sheriff's face twitched. "I didn't ask."

"Ugh. Yeah, fine, I'll meet you down at the car."

Stiles steeled himself outside the door. The crime scene was in a residential house in the heart of town. The coroner had mentioned the bedroom, so Stiles assumed they were naked.

Wonderful. What the fuck.

He walked in and saw, thankfully, a fairly attractive woman instead of an old hairy dude. She was, indeed, naked.

It was then that he realized he'd have to get up close and _very_ personal to take photos of her... um... privates, to check for that smoke. He looked down at his digital camera in his hands, set to distort the color in the best way possible to capture colors just on the far edge of human vision.

"Give me the room," he ordered the men and women around him. They gave him a look, many of them giving him a once-over, and steadfastly ignored him.

That's when the Sheriff walked in and barked, "You heard him."

They all but scrambled out.

"What are you going to do?" his dad asked him curiously, but Stiles could hear the edge of his voice - he wasn't sure he wanted that question answered.

He should've listened to his instincts.

"I'm about to do something that's probably going to send me to hell when I die."

When he left the crime scene with photos and mental scarring of plenty, he waited for his dad to finish so that he could get a ride back home.

That's when he noticed an on-looker staring at him.

There were many of them. Blinking lights in a residential area tends to draw attention. But this girl... gave Stiles a feeling... A bad one.

"Hey," he said to the deputy beside him, refusing to tear his eyes away from the on-looker. She began to get squirrely and took a step back away from the tape. "Hey, get that girl for questioning."

The girl turned and walked away, and just as a large van passed the street between Stiles and the girl, the deputy turned around and asked who.

Once the van was past, the girl was gone.

"Here, Erica, you like to look at these," Stiles said, tossing the folder to her. She grabbed Lydia's hand and brought her to Stiles' bed. While she and Lydia went over the photos he'd taken, he got on the computer and started making a facial composite of the girl he'd seen. Better ID her as fast as possible.

The next day, he finally finished the facial composite and put it in the system to get ID'd. He ripped into a twizzler as he waited. When he figured it would take a while, he got up from his desk and wandered downstairs, thinking about what he wanted to eat that morning.

There was a knock on the door.

The back door.

Stiles froze and frowned, turning to stare at the door. There was a shadow cast over the glass, but whoever was there wasn't standing in view.

His heart began to race, and he glanced up at his room. He had a gun hidden under his pillow, and his bat was just right there. He had so many knives in his dresser.

He tripped backwards gracefully and grabbed the pocket knife he'd hidden in one of the living room drawers months ago, then made his way to the door. He bit his lip, body naturally gearing up for a fight for his life. He couldn't remember the last time someone he knew used the back door. It didn't make sense, unless they came from the woods...

He reached for the handle and hesitated for a moment.

_Do I really want to open this door? Do I reallyyy want to know what's on the other side? If it's someone I know, I could just yell out 'who's there?!' and they'd say something. They know not to mess with me... I think._

_But if I stayed quiet, and pretended I wasn't here, maybe they'd go away. Maybe it was a bad guy, and if they didn't know I was here they'd move on. Maybe it was a bad guy and if he knew I was here, he'd come in and kill me?_

_Maybe I should go back to my room._

_Maybe I should back away slowly and-_

That's when the figure finally leaned into view and rapped their knuckles on the glass again expectantly.

It was fucking Peter.

"For the love of..." Stiles sighed and put the knife in his pocket, opening up the door. "Dude, you gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Peter said with a smile, walking in past Stiles and looking around the house. Something went off in Stiles' head. Some tiny little blinking red light with small print that said, _Wait, he's acting like a normal person with adequate social skills and not being a total creep? That can't be right._

"Uh-"

"Hey," Peter turned around and walked back towards him. "I've got to tell you something. Somewhere private?"

Stiles shrugged. "Okay. I've gotta tell you something too, dude. This shit's been weird." Stiles walked past him and jogged up the stairs, and Peter followed right behind. "Lydia and Erica are working on the crime scene photos, and I'm working on this composite I made of an onlooker I thought looked a bit squirrely-"

"Stiles..."

He turned and saw Peter standing there, watching him closely. "Right. You had something to say. What's up?"

"I've been noticing something lately."

"Yeah?"

Peter came up closer to him, and Stiles felt his body gear up for something entirely different from a fight. His throat swallowed on it's own accord.

"You've been watching me."

Stiles blinked. "Uhh, what?"

"Staring." Stiles' face must've went bright red right then. Caught red-faced. "I don't mind." Peter smiled again. "I really don't. I just figured... you know, it was about time I did something about it. Since your 18th birthday was last month, I thought it was time."

"Time for... for..."

"For this."

Peter took Stiles' hand and pulled him in, placing a hand on his jaw and leaning in.

Alarms and warning flags went up everywhere as their lips connected, but this was... This was amazing. It was great. It was everything Stiles had ever fucking wanted, for fucks sake.

Which is why he pulled back, frowning. Peter's frown fit to match. "Is this too fast?"

"It's sudden," Stiles blurted. "Very, very very very sudden."

"What, would you rather I let you know I'm hopelessly attracted to you and then left?"

He had a point. Stiles ignored the warnings and allowed Peter to pull him back in.

They kissed for a while, and Stiles got more comfortable with it. Maybe not necessarily processing it completely, but the heat between his legs kept his head clear. Or, maybe precisely the opposite, rather covering all of his subconscious alarms with a thick, impenetrable fog.

Because his subconscious knew that this wasn't Peter. It couldn't be. There's no way Stiles could be that lucky. That's just the principal of the matter. That is his evidence. That is his entire case. Stiles cannot land someone as hot as Peter.

But as their lips moved, and their hips moved, and suddenly they were on the bed and Peter was pulling Stiles' shirt off, Stiles believed it.

Maybe it was because of the heavy pheromones that this-thing-that-could-not possibly-be-Peter was releasing, surrounding Stiles in arousal, overwriting any and all doubts and insecurities and hesitance.

Maybe that was why he had never been so hard in his life.

Or maybe it was because this thing that was making out with him and currently undoing his jeans was at least Peter-shaped.

The pheromones were overwhelming. Stiles couldn't get a clear thought in even if he wanted. Which is why, when his bedroom door burst open, he hadn't even thought to quickly cover his body what with being now shirtless, pantless, and his underwear having been in the process of being pulled down. Part of his cock sat hard, aching, shiny with precum at the tip, on his abdomen, half-covered by the hem of his underwear.

And in a blur of motion, suddenly Peter was there, snarling and yanking... Yanking another Peter off of Stiles.

The one Peter died quickly. The other stood above him and watched as he shifted into a woman upon death, staring blankly at the ceiling - the same woman from the crime scene the other day. Stiles frowned, wanting to be repulsed but the pheromones still hung heavy in the air around him.

All he could see was Peter turning to stare at him with wide, flashing-blue eyes - the _real_ Peter - and it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

"Peter," he whined, frowning and finding himself pushing himself up, crawling towards the man of his dirtiest dreams. "What's happening to me?"

That must've been part of his subconscious coming through. A bifurcated mind is a confusing one.

"Stiles, you-" Stiles saw Peter grimace deeply as he reached out to the boy and grabbed his biceps, holding him in place. Stiles watched the man's eyes trail down his body, landing to where part of Stiles' cock still layed pressed against his belly from the elastic, bared to the world. "Fuck, Stiles..."

"Mmm, yeah?" Stiles purred and it sounded _filthy_.

Peter took a breath and then he was groaning, pulling Stiles against him and kissing him.

 _This is the real Peter!_ Stiles' subconscious hollered in excitement. _Holy shit! This is really happening! Okay, this is good! Very good! Don't let go! Don't let him go!_

Stiles wrapped his arms around his neck, pushing against him, moaning. He used one of his hands to grab Peter's wrist and push it down lower, guide his hand to his ass cheek. Peter eagerly slid his hand under the small amount of fabric still covering his ass and squeezed, pulling the boy off the bed and onto his hips. Stiles moaned and rutted against his groin, and felt Peter's cock answering to his own. The sound of Stiles' underwear ripping filled the room and then Stiles was completely naked, his arousal pushed up between their two bodies as they kissed.

"Peter!" Stiles heard, and the man suddenly threw Stiles back onto the bed, throwing the covers over him and looming over him, turning towards the door with a low growl. Lydia came into view, panting like she'd been running. "Peter, the pheromones! Don't breathe them in!"

Stiles watched Peter look down at Stiles and grimace again, gritting his teeth and then covering his mouth like it hurt him to do so. He took a deep breath through the fabric of his shirt, and held his breath. Then, he wrapped the blanket around Stiles and picked the boy up, carrying him from the room.

**-Lydia-**

_[Earlier]_

"Hey."

Peter looked over at Lydia.

"I think I figured it out." She pointed to the screen and Peter come over to see. "Succubus. Feeds off of sexual energy." She looked up at him. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Always a pleasure, Lydia," Peter purred before walking out of her bedroom, having gotten what he needed. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her stuff, following him out. She'd have to help Stiles narrow down the huge suspect list.

When she pulled up to the Stilinski house, Peter suddenly jerked and went alert. "It's in there with him," he said, jumping out of the car.

"Wait!" she cried out, sighing when he sprinted into the house and left her in the dust. "God, why do I have to do everything?! Fuck, don't- Peter _don't breathe it!_ Fuck!"

He'd never actually let her tell him that the succubus uses pheromones that'll be more than enough to control a werewolf. She ran into the house, bracing herself for a sight even worse than naked dead bodies - naked Stiles, and naked Peter, fucking like horny rabbits.

Or, even worse, the sight of Stiles and the succubus, who takes the shape of its victims deepest sexual desire.

Oh no, what if Stiles still wasn't over her? What if that succubus has taken Lydia's shape to fuck him?

 _Please, anything but that_.

* * *

Stiles blinked away the fog around his brain, sitting in the backseat. He looked up at Peter in the driver's seat, yelling at Lydia on the phone, "I have something I have to deal with! Just call your boyfriend if you need a ride!"

"Peter," Stiles said, still a little confused. He looked down. He was wrapped in his blanket and naked underneath-

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He remembered what he had done and looked up at Peter in horror. Peter looked at him in the rearview and then hung up on Lydia. "Stiles, I can smell what you're thinking-"

"Oh my god-"

"Stop spiraling!"

"Oh my god, I'm sorry- I'm- Oh god, what did- Oh my god-"

"Stiles!"

He put his face in his hands and shivered. His cock was still hard. "That was a succubus - god I should've known you wouldn't- Oh my god, I can't believe- Oh god I kissed you! And you were only into it because you were affected by the same shit it infected me with-"

"Stiles!" Peter snapped. "I didn't breathe enough of it in to be affected!"

Stiles swallowed and shook his head. He's just lying to save him the fucking embarrassment.

"Listen to me, Stiles, I wanted it. I-"

"But not now, I get it, I underst-"

"No, I _still_ want it! _You_ , I want _you_! All the time! And then you were there, smelling like sex and arousal and naked and your fucking-..." Stiles looked up at the wolfman, who still looked half crazed. "Fuck, Stiles..."

Stiles swallowed. "Fuck... me?"

Peter glanced up at him in the rearview mirror and then looked back at the road. Stiles heard the leather steering wheel creak under his grip. "Let me get you back to the loft first."

Stiles swallowed again, wringing his hands together, his cock filling back up anew. "First?"

Peter sighed. "Implying that the former is then subsequent, yes... I have every intention to fuck you tonight, dear."

Stiles twiddled his fingers some more as his cheeks heated up even more. "Well... Today didn't turn out the way I expected..."

Peter threw his head back against the car seat with a dull _thump_. "I swear, Stiles, sometimes I wonder why I'm attracted to you in the first place."

"Well, it's not like your sanity isn't at question already."

"I suppose not."

"Thank god, too, I mean... Who knows where we'd be if we were normal. Surely not here- you know, me naked in the back of your car and all. Succubus included, I think today has been pretty great."

Peter glanced up at him with a smirk. "Just wait until tonight."

The shiver that wracked Stiles' body right then absolutely had nothing to do with his current lack of clothes. But the new rush of heat to his groin sure did.


End file.
